This is the latest generation of the NightsAwake program. The program was begun in 2002 by LJ, Luke, Frost and Xerox (Third), as an outlet for people online all night, every night. The Project is a creative outlet only, and one has already been closed because of bitching and flaming. Please keep this a creative place. Accepted formats are: Prose, narrative, or verse. Please do not directly reference any person living or dead. Be wise, be courteous, and above all, be cool.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Writer

When I stepped off the train, I had no idea where I was going. Truth be told, I had no idea where I was. People marched past me in all directions, eyes straight ahead. Purposeful. They knew, but I stood still, a step from the train.

The door slid shut behind me, and the warning bell blared. I took another step forward, away from the train as it slipped away down its track. Even it knew where it was going next.

This story began as so many of mine do: with an impression of a moment, but no end in sight. It's easy to lose momentum when you start without a destination. Really, it's like starting by standing still. No momentum at all. Just a tableau, an image. More a poem than a story, if anything.

Is this a failure, or an exercise? A release, or a pointless spinning of wheels? Obedience, or foolishness?

And here, the bitterness enters. It's not easy, this process. It's that much tougher regaining ground, having stood by for years and watched the clock run. Wanting it to be easy.

There's a parable. A king entrusts three of his servants with large sums of money. Two put the king's resources to work, and gain more. The third buries his share, only to dig it up later. The king is pleased with the first two. The third, he hurls out of the castle.